Belonging

In the burnt umber of autumn orange skies, we search for meaning, for hope, for a sense of belonging we can nest into. And maybe a lifetime has already passed, craving such a place that envelopes you with utter acceptance and grace. No expectations you have to meet, no judgements you have to face. We stick our necks out, we touch the stove, we risk our hearts and put it all on the line for a chance to belong for any amount of time. Trying to say the right thing,
look the right way,
be easy to love,
 be less to be enough, but still loud enough to be noticed. It’s a hard game to play. Especially when you realize that belonging doesn’t ask that of you. People do. But not true belonging, because it doesn’t live in other people’s approval. It lives in the accountability for who you are.